


5 Christmases Eliot was wrong  and 1 Christmas he was even more wrong

by Mizzy



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5 Times, Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Christmas, Consent Play, Drinking, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title. Alternatively, five Christmases Eliot spent with the wrong people and the one Christmas he finally found the right people to spend the day with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Christmases Eliot was wrong  and 1 Christmas he was even more wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aunt_zelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/gifts).



> Thank you to F for the super speedy excellent beta. <3

**Eliot & Quinn**

"Ooh," Quinn crooned from the other room, "merry fucking Christmas to _us._ "

Eliot rolled his eyes at the sound of clinking glasses; of course his friend had gravitated directly to the mansion's liquor cabinet. "I don't like the odds of anything left behind in this place actually being worth anything."

"You just need to lower your standards, baby," Quinn called through, a quirked smile on his face as he sailed through the door, a large clear bottle clasped in one hand. Eliot could see the figure _75% proof_ on the label and sent a deep and sincere apology to his liver.

"I'm slumming it with you instead of renting a perfectly reasonable catered hotel room, aren't I?" Eliot said.

Quinn made a huffing sound and dropped onto the pile of rugs Eliot had already dug out from a corner. Dust exploded up around him, and Quinn just cackled. "It's like snow."

"Snow predominantly made of human skin."

Quinn eyeballed Eliot judgingly. "You are way too sober to be managing words like _predominantly._ I'm totally going to share my Christmas present with you."

"Like you were going to keep it to yourself anyway," Eliot said.

"You, Mr. Spencer, are totally wrong," Quinn declared. "I am perfectly capable of hoarding my alcohol." He poured what was beyond a reasonable measure of the vodka into two tin mugs before passing the bigger one to Eliot. "To Christmases with friends."

Eliot leaned in to clink their mugs together. "Friends. Is that what we are?"

Quinn looked at Eliot over the rim of his mug, a sly look on his face. "At least for now."

Eliot maintained eye contact with Quinn as they downed one, two, three measures of the vodka, and Quinn cackled as Eliot nearly choked on his fourth shot. "It's not exactly the smoothest thing in the world," Eliot defended.

"Fuck no," Quinn agreed, pushing himself up onto his knees and smirking at Eliot. "That would be me." He reached out to undo Eliot's fly and passed out, his head smashing into Eliot's crotch.

Eliot sighed down at the unconscious mass and petted Quinn's hair softly. "Merry Christmas, you lightweight."

Quinn snored loudly in response and drooled onto Eliot's jeans.

 

**Eliot & Nate & Maggie & Sterling**

Oh, hide in the cabin with the _insurance_ agents. That was such a great plan. Nothing could _possibly_ go wrong from scanning the itinerary and choosing the least potentially dangerous passengers from the guest list, _nooo._

Well, at least it was obvious from the undisturbed white robes hanging from the bar that the Fords hadn't yet used the inbuilt closet to their port-side room, and from the distinctive state of their suitcases, they probably didn't plan to. And it was probably safer to be crammed into a hiding space there and not roaming the ship corridors, where Patterson's goons were still masquerading as cleaners and waiters.

"It's like it disappeared into thin air," Ford's wife said. The cruise itinerary said her name was Maggie. There was a light creak, like someone of a slight build had sat down on a bed. "I've never seen something so beautiful in real life before."

"I have," a male American voice said. Ford. Nathan Ford according to the papers. Maggie made a questioning sound in the back of his throat that was interrupted by a distinctive wet sound and—

Oh. Oh god. It was Christmas and Eliot was hiding in a cramped closet in a small cruise ship room and the inhabitants were having sex just a meter away from his head. _Brilliant._ Awesome.

Well, it wasn't like his mission had to change. All Eliot had to do was hang tight and hope the Fords would finish what they were doing. Dinner was at 8pm, so the Fords should be done by then; they were on the Captain's dinner invite for the Christmas meal. At 10pm, when the boat was due to draw up alongside the cruise ship, Eliot could easily escape the ship with the priceless jade necklace he'd been hired to retrieve.

He just hoped Nathan and Maggie had been married awhile, so their nookie would be short, and Eliot could make his escape.

Then he heard the _third_ voice.

"Did you just bring me in here to watch?" the third voice said. Male and British, Eliot concluded. He thought back to the ship's itinerary. A James Sterling had been listed as working for the same insurance company; his cabin was too near the room Eliot had retrieved the necklace from. "Because as nice a Christmas present as that would be…"

Sterling trailed off as Maggie said, "Come here, handsome."

The next few hours were… illuminating. Even Eliot's cheeks were burning red by the conclusion of events; the only reassuring thought was that he would never have to see any of the three ever again.

Eliot was good at being wrong.

 

**Eliot & Moreau**

"I don't want to do this again," Eliot said, which didn't explain how come four hours later he was on his hands and knees, clutching the sheets between his fingers, letting Moreau destroy him from the inside out.

Moreau knew Eliot's body like it was an instrument he knew how to expertly play. It was good like it always was, good in the way Eliot didn't deserve. Not with the blood on his fingers. Not with the blood he would shed under Moreau's command. But as Moreau's fingers clenched down, as he took from Eliot and took and _took_ —

It was easy to forget why Moreau was a bad idea during this. But outside the sex, Eliot never forgot for a second. Forgetting was wrong, but when Moreau made forgetting _this_ good, Eliot couldn't resist.

Moreau never waited to make sure Eliot was satisfied; when his own conclusion was released, he withdrew and lay back on the sheets, lighting up smokes that reminded Eliot of backstreet bars and one of his pa's best friends, who'd like to take Eliot out to the backwoods, who tried to get ten-year-old Eliot to get down on his knees. Eliot had broken the man's fingers and one of his kneecaps. Eliot had always been a weapon.

"Happy Christmas, Spencer," Moreau said.

Eliot was a weapon and Moreau always knew how to pull the trigger.

 

**Eliot & Sterling**

Eliot probably knew it was James Sterling that had written the ad online. He had to have known. Had to find one way to add a punishment on top of the loathing.

Sterling didn't recognize him; that was unsurprising. Eliot had run into Nathan Ford a few times since their first meeting, but Sterling had always been an annoying figure in the distance, someone Eliot vaguely associated with a skill set in dirty talk as he fucked his best friend's wife but nothing much beyond that.

The ad had been enticing. Eliot e-mailed him, negotiated what he wanted, and Sterling had agreed to everything.

Eliot paid the fee, turned up at the hotel room, and signed the contract Sterling had placed on the bed. Let Sterling strip him and blindfold him, let Sterling's words roll over him until they reverberated with how _right_ the words were.

Eliot was scum. Eliot didn't deserve nice things. It was better hearing it in another's voice. It made things better.

But even with Sterling it ended up being completely wrong. He'd insisted on an aftercare section to be part of the contract, and Eliot hadn't thought it through, hadn't thought how it would feel to have Sterling's hands gentling across his scars and bruises.

It felt more invasive than the knife, more winding than the bruises, more personal than Sterling's body buried deep into his. Worse, it felt like forgiveness. Eliot made a vow. He wouldn't spend Christmas with anyone else from now on.

 

**Eliot (alone)**

"I don't want to interrupt," Eliot said.

That wasn't all he said: the argument for where Eliot was going to spend Christmas had spanned over the last eight months. This most recent reiteration had been raging for the last two hours. Parker just couldn't understand why he wouldn't spend Christmas with her and with Hardison.

It was kind of difficult to explain that Eliot had a different association with Christmas than pure joy and happiness.

"But it's _Christmas,_ " Parker said, for the nine hundredth time. That wasn't an estimation. Parker took Christmas very seriously.

"C'mon, babe," Hardison said, pulling the slight thief closer to him, nestling his forehead against Parker's. Eliot's stomach twisted at the sight. He didn't deserve anything so nice. "Why don't you go back up to the apartment, finish setting the table for dinner. I got some crackers for the table, the good kind - why don't you go and find where I put them?"

"In your sock drawer," Parker said, rolling her eyes, but the lure of putting out more Christmas decoration was obviously too much to resist. "Santa will get you coal if you don't celebrate Christmas!" she yelled at Eliot as she left the room.

"You really gonna try and lecture me?" Eliot said, crossing his arms. "There's a reason I do Christmas on my own, Hardison. Trust me. You don't want me around. I'd just interrupt you. Be in the way."

"I think you're wrong but I ain't gonna argue with you, man," Hardison said. "Not _this_ time, anyway."

Eliot squinted, doubtful. "You're not?"

Hardison shrugged. "You've got a thing about Christmas. I can't hack your memories of the past. I _can_ offer you new memories for the future. Something to wipe over the bad stuff. But if you don't think you're ready for it, I'm not going to push you."

Eliot stared at him. "I'd just be in the way."

"For what it's worth, I _know_ you're wrong this time," Hardison said, his hand falling firm on Eliot's shoulder, the warmth seeping through Eliot's clothes to the skin beneath. "The invitation's open, whenever you're ready to come."

"I appreciate it," Eliot said, and he meant it. "Merry Christmas, Hardison."

"You too, man," Hardison said. Eliot smiled until Hardison left the room, the building, headed towards the apartment he and Parker had bought last year. He could still feel Hardison's hand on his shoulder like a brand.

A lot of people had touched Eliot over the years. Some to be kind, some to hurt. Some with the intention to kill, some trying to fulfil a kink that could only be scratched by another broken person.

Hardison and Parker touched him and it felt _different._ He felt _right._

He wasn't ready to accept that as a possibility for his future yet.

One year, he thought, he might be. He might be ready to be right, instead of wrong all the time.

That thought was terrifying.

 

**Eliot & Parker & Hardison**

It wasn't even that something in particular had swayed him, but after over a decade of Parker and Hardison asking and asking him to spend Christmas with them, Eliot wanted to see if he was right, see if he _was_ an interruption.

It was probably just one more punishment on top of all the rest, to finally have to accept that even with the best people in the world as company, Eliot would still be broken. He'd still be _wrong._ Eliot nearly turned around, but he'd come this far. He knocked politely on their front door like he didn't spend nearly every day with them anyway.

"I knew you'd come round," Parker said, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Eliot gave her an askance look, but Parker stepped out of the doorway, and there was a table set up for Christmas behind them. It was made up for three places. By the third plate there was a paper snowflake sign with _Eliot_ handwritten in a pretty cursive across the front _._

"How could you even know that I—" Eliot started. "That it was _this_ time that I decided to come?"

"We set a space for you every year, dumb ass," Hardison said, yanking Eliot in for a hug. Parker made a happy sound and just jumped in on the hug, kicking the door shut behind him.

And so, just like every Christmas, it turned out that Eliot was wrong. But this time it was he was just wrong on an assumption. He _wasn't_ an interruption. He was the addition that took the equation up to a complete _one._

 


End file.
